


Once Upon A Time

by afteriwake



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Bad Poetry, Gen, Henry Has a Crush, Henry-centric, How Henry Got The Book, POV Henry, Poetry, Pre-Series, Putting Events In Motion, Student Henry, Teacher Snow White | Mary Margaret Blanchard
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-07
Updated: 2017-04-07
Packaged: 2018-10-16 02:27:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,311
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10561856
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/afteriwake/pseuds/afteriwake
Summary: Henry wants to give his teacher a poem, but she gives him something so much more important instead.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I'm slowly moving over the rest of my older fic from Livejournal since they changed their terms of service and found this one that I had co-written with **littlemouseno** on LJ for a Bingo card challenge at **onceuponaland**. My prompt was “ _Collab – Henry Mills_ ” and their prompt was “ _Henry - school boy crush_.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow. Class dismissed.” 

All around him, Henry’s classmates pushed back their chairs and shoved books into their bags, the noise lost beneath the clang of the dismissal bell. Henry swallowed hard and clutched his notebook to his chest. Miss Blanchard didn’t have any students around her, so it was now or never.

Henry took a deep breath and headed for the front of the classroom, his face set in a determined expression. He could not get tongue-tied. Right from the beginning of the year, Henry had noted that of all the teachers here, Miss Blanchard was the prettiest. And the kindest, most definitely the kindest. And, usually, the easiest to talk to. But lately, Henry found it difficult to talk to her about anything. All he wanted was to do something nice for her, Yet each time he approached her desk, shyness would take over the minute she smiled at him, and Henry would be unable to explain what he wanted. He just couldn’t understand it. 

_But not today_ , he told himself firmly. Today, he was on a mission. He would show her his poem, even if it took him all afternoon. 

As he made his way around the last few children, Miss Blanchard looked up and smiled at him. “Ho, hey Henry. I have something for you. 

_Uh oh_. Henry slowed. He sincerely hoped it was not a note for his mother. He absolutely hated to hear the words “Henry, we have to talk.” But no, that wasn’t a note she pulled from her desk drawer. 

In fact, it was a book.

“Here, Henry.” Miss Blanchard handed him the leather bound tome. “I thought you might like to have this.”

Henry ran a hand over the worn cover. The leather was beautifully embossed with the words _Once Upon A Time_. He opened it up and flipped through the pages. There were beautiful illustrations and illuminated letters, like in medieval Bibles. Henry smiled at one of a dragon breathing fire. He looked up at Miss Blanchard. “Thanks!” he said. “But why?”

“Because I thought you’d enjoy them,” his teacher replied. “The stories are all about princes inspired to defend their kingdoms, and it seemed to me that with your active imagination, you would love those kinds of adventures.”

Henry looked back at the book in his hands. Inspiration for adventures, she’s said. Yeah, he could use some adventures. 

“Now, was there something you wanted to tell me, Henry?”

Henry blinked and thought about his poem.

_Roses are red._   
_Violets are blue._   
_Flowers are pretty,_   
_And so are you._

No way was his silly little verse adequate thanks for the book. “Uh, no, nothing important,” he said, hastily opening his backpack and slipping his new book, along with the notebook, inside. “Thanks again for the book, Miss Blanchard. See you tomorrow!” he called over his shoulder as he raced out the door. 

He left the school, book clutched in his arms, and raced to his castle. It wasn’t really a castle, just a play structure that most of the kids in town ignored, shaped like a bit of castle wall. When he was there no one bothered him, especially not his mother. It was his only real safe haven in town, and he knew he could read this gift in peace and quiet, so long as he didn’t stay out too late. If he did that he knew his mother would send someone to find him. Probably Sheriff Graham. He knew his mother had some kind of relationship with him that wasn’t professional, though they tried really hard to hide it. He liked the Sheriff, though, so it usually didn’t bug him.

He sat down on the worn wood and opened the book. The first story was about Snow White. He looked at the illustration and saw just how much it looked like his favorite teacher. The illustrations were so lifelike that it was almost like a photograph, but in the picture, she had long hair and wore a flowing gown. He could imagine his teacher like that, maybe, and it would really fit her.

He knew the story of Snow White, of course: she lost her mom when she was young, her dad got remarried to a wicked stepmother who tried to kill her by sending her out with the huntsman, the huntsman spared her life, she lived with dwarves for a while, the stepmother disguised herself as an old lady and had her bite a poisoned apple, the dwarves put her in a glass coffin as they mourned her, and then a prince came and woke her up with a kiss. That was how it went, and everyone knew that.

Everyone except the person who wrote this book, apparently. The more he read the more fascinated he became with the story. It was still familiar but very different in other ways. And the more he looked at the illustrations the more he began to wonder. The Evil Queen looked just like his mother, the Huntsman looked just like the Sheriff. It was uncanny. He read the story all the way through, all the way to the Prince and Snow’s wedding, before he realized it was getting dark.

If he didn’t hurry home his mother would send someone after him. He stuck the book in his backpack this time, and ran all the way back home. His mother was there, asking him all the usual questions she did when he got home: how was school, what did he learn, had he done his homework yet? He answered them, then got told to clean up for dinner. He did that quickly, and it was all he could do to get through dinner without letting on that he had something better to do. It was a Friday so there wasn’t any homework, and as soon as he had taken his bath and gotten ready for bed he grabbed the book, took it to his bed, and began to read.

It took him the whole next day to finish the book. And as he read he saw more people he recognized: Ruby was Red Riding Hood, Granny was her grandmother, Mr. Gold was Rumpelstiltskin, Dr. Hopper was Jiminy Cricket…it was as though the author had based everyone on people here in Storybrooke. And it was that realization that made him ponder things. Maybe, just maybe, everyone had been transported to Storybrooke when the curse hit. And maybe, just maybe, the woman who had given him up at birth…maybe she was the Saviour. He thought that because there wasn’t a single character in the book who looked like him, and wouldn’t it be a twist if that was the case?

Of course, that might not be the case. Maybe the person who wrote the book had lived here and moved away. It was a possibility. But what if it was true? What if the people he knew really were fairy tale characters? There was so much about this town that he found strange, and that would explain so much. So he flipped through the book again, more quickly this time, as the idea started to take shape and become more solid. Yes, that was it. Storybrooke was where the curse had sent everyone. They were all fairy tale characters. And now he knew what he needed to do: find his birth mother and bring her to Storybrooke so she could break the curse. He shut the book and put it aside. It would take some time, but he could do it. He could help free everyone. And so, he got on the computer in his room and began to search out ways to find her. After all, if he was the son of the savior, it was his duty to free all the people, free his real family…wasn’t it?


End file.
